


42 Days

by Speary



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x8 Lotus, Coda, Destiel - Freeform, Dreaming, M/M, Pining, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 19:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9252116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speary/pseuds/Speary
Summary: They say that one can lose their sanity in 19 days of solitary confinement. Dean has seen nothing but these walls for 42 days, that and the face he imagines when he feels like he might never be free again. When he closes his eyes, there's nothing but blue eyes and a warm smile to fill him with thoughts of what might have been.Coda for 12x8





	

 

 

Dean closed his eyes again just to escape. It was part of the routine now, part of the plan that involved keeping his sanity. He was greeted by the small smile, so familiar and yet so far away. He let his mind linger on it. It was safe to do so here in this place. It didn’t matter here like it would if he was free. It was his ticket to sanity town. He needed this. This was okay.

 

He’d watched a documentary once on Alcatraz. It was a full history of the place. Sammy likely got him to watch it because it had some stuff on serial killers. _Freak._ What stuck though, was the Cell Block D stuff and the prisoners that ended up in solitary. That seemed to matter a hell of a lot now.

 

They could leave the men of Alcatraz in solitary for nineteen days. They gave them an hour each day out in the sun just to keep the world from claiming that this was cruel and inhuman treatment. At the end of the nineteen days, the men confined to the solitary cells would be sent back to their regularly scheduled cells.

 

Dean thought about what they had. They had sunlight, one tiny patch of sky and high concrete walls to limit the view. They had that. Dean had a wall with a small humming bar of light that turned off and on at regular intervals. It was the one thing he had to remind him of the passage of time, that and the food that came to him through a slot in the door.

 

He thought of the smile. He thought of the way that he could have had more. He reimagined moments until he had more and more. He had nothing else to do in this space. He had a bare green wall to look at. He’d taken to carving out slashes to remember the days by. Time passed like that, and he noted it when the slashes numbered nineteen. If this place were regulated they’d be free in the morning.

 

The twentieth day came, and they were still there. He ate the food that came to him through the slot in the door. He carved a slash into the wall. He closed his eyes and gazed his fill on the smile. “Mornin’ Sunshine.”

 

***

 

They drove with the windows down. He called him his family, their family to be more precise. He was something else though. It wasn’t a lie, just not an entirely accurate truth. He opened his eyes and took in the institutional green wall. Sam was on the other side of the other wall, the one with the bed. He tried getting noise to pass through the thick concrete. He knew it wasn’t working. He’d have heard Sam if it was possible.

 

The men of Alcatraz would get returned to their cells after nineteen days. If they managed to piss off the wrong people though, they’d be back in twenty-four hours. The ones that came to know solitary really well, the real troopers, they said that it did things to you. You started seeing things that weren’t there.

 

It reminded Dean of another program that Sam sucked him into. It was about a study that some university did. They took some poor chumps and locked them up. They kept them isolated from all human contact. After some days, they started hallucinating things. One guy saw nothing but dogs, tons of them everywhere. Needless to say, there weren’t any dogs. Another person saw eye-glasses, tons and tons of eye-glasses. It was weird what the mind would conjure up for you just to get you through.

 

Dean thought of all the things that Sam's mind could conjure up. “Hope you’re seeing all the dogs Sammy.” Dean got up and paced the room. He went through a routine of exercises that he decided were necessary. He did a round of sit-ups. He tried to do them fast enough that it felt like a little breeze was hitting his face. He closed his eyes again, and he imagined the drive. The windows were down. They were together in the same space for once. He wanted to tell him how much he missed him, how much it mattered that he was back. Instead he told him that he was family, the most important thing to him in a way.

 

It hadn’t been enough. He should have explained more. They never got enough time for that. He tried to do the sit-ups faster. His mind conjured up a smile, small and a little melancholy. He opened his eyes. The walls were green in front of him, like the grass that had rushed into their wake as they drove that day.

 

***

 

They gave him coffee in the morning along with something that might actually be called gruel. He thought that was the stuff of fiction or more precisely _Oliver_ fucking _Twist._ He ate everything, every time, even if it tasted like nothing. Maybe he finally understood what it was like to be Cas and eat. It was all just molecules, doing a job.

 

He tried not to think his name. He thought of his face though, and that stirred up a world of feelings. Dean got it in his head that the name mattered, that the use of the name would be enough to send off a prayer. If he prayed, Cas would know where he was. He’d know what happened. Although he should want that, he was afraid of what the effort of saving him would do. Cas had done enough in his time, sacrificed everything. Maybe being in here was a ticket to freedom for Cas. Besides, they were still paying the price for sacrifices made on his behalf before. Every time he needed saving, the cost was too high, and Cas was always willing to pay it.  _Not this time._

 

The only time this didn’t go well for Dean was when he thought of Sam in the room next to him. In those moments of quiet contemplation, he almost prayed, almost. Instead of that, though, he closed his eyes and ventured into freedom. He drove through vast stretches of American land. He drove and drove like there was a destination, but they never reached it. He turned to the seat next to him and cool blue eyes greeted him. They held the smile that began with a twitch of lips.

 

It was his daydream, so he could reach across the expanse and take comfort from the hand that rested in the space between them. He could imagine that the hand was warm and happy to be held. He could imagine that there was a gentle sweep of a thumb moving lazily back and forth over his knuckles. This moment could last forever.

 

***

They turned the lights off around two hours after the final meal. It was absolute dark. The cell wasn’t just dark the way a room can be in a house or a motel way out in the country. Those places had moonlight, or streetlamps glowing in the distance. This was a different kind of dark. This was absolute dark. He swore he could sleep even with his eyes open. He didn’t though. He thought he saw more in that dark than he did when he shut his eyes.

 

Some nights in the dark, he thought he wasn’t alone. He could feel the cool brush of fingers on his cheeks, the ghost of the cell’s last resident, maybe. Likely was his imagination. He closed his eyes, opened them, closed them again. It was all he could do until exhaustion pulled him under into sleep, into dreams. In the night he could hardly conjure the face. He couldn’t make himself drag that smile into this dark.

 

He craved the salvation it would bring to have him here. He wanted to pray. He needed to pray. He filled the silence with a song. He sang quietly into the dark. He sang “Hey Jude.” He started quietly, then as the song wound through the chorus for a second time he sang with all the volume he could muster. He sang so loud he told himself that even Sammy had to hear it. He sang so loud that he could almost drown out the silence, the evil silence that tormented him for so long.

 

They never stopped him. They never came to his room to negotiate. They just left him there with his thoughts. Dean wondered how long he could do this before it made him break.

 

***

 

He woke with the light like it was his sun. He blinked once, twice, three times before he reached up and wiped away the sleepy sand that lingered at the edges of his vision. He closed his eyes and imagined a smile, warm and full. They sat across from each other at some nondescript diner. Dean thought that something about it was off. They were across from each other. Normally they sat next to each other. He felt the press of a knee against his own though and let this vision exist despite its inaccuracy.

 

“Mornin’ Sunshine.” He said it each day when the light came on. He figured it was okay. It wasn’t a name. It was a connection that he needed though. “Missed you.” Anyone listening would think he’d snapped, calling the light sunshine or even talking to it. _They know nothing._ He moved to the floor and sat with his back to the bed. The morning food had not yet arrived. He was hungry. He was always hungry.

 

He closed his eyes and thought of a night at the bunker. It was nothing. It was everything. He somehow had fallen asleep on Sam’s bed. Sam was sprawled out at the foot of the thing, while the TV played some movie. Cas was next to him. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep for, but he woke up before the movie ended, his head tucked comfortably into Cas’ shoulder. He could see Cas’ hand resting on his leg. Dean could feel the stroke of Cas’ thumb just above his knee. He focused entirely on that.

 

He could have moved. He could have sat up and apologized for invading his space, but he didn’t. He stayed there, breathing in and out so deeply that Cas had to know he was awake. He didn’t care though. He just had to make it last, take in every molecule of the moment—how he smelled, how he felt, how he made him feel. Dean knew he was lost, but he didn’t think it mattered.

 

He didn’t have to rewrite this memory. It was already perfect. _Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._ He told himself, and he could almost believe that he wasn’t alone.

 

***

 

Some days he thought he could actually hear time passing. Seconds became tangible things.

 

Dean ran in place to get his blood flowing, to kick up his heartbeat, make it louder than the imaginary noise of time.

 

For no explicable reason they shut off his lights after the second meal. He was standing in the middle of the room entirely unprepared. He didn't move. Minutes passed, maybe an hour. It was hard to tell in the dark.

 

He moved to the wall and let his fingers drag over the slashes, over the days. They were rough against his skin. Dean pressed his head to the cool cement wall and closed his eyes.

 

He could see blue eyes and a smile that was meant to comfort him. “Mornin’ Sunshine,” he said it into the dark, but it wasn't dark if he kept his eyes closed.

 

He imagined real sunlight so bright that it burned a little too look at it. He imagined big Kansas skies and a rough gravelly voice to fill the silence.

 

He needed to get out. He needed more than imagined moments. He needed to set some things in motion. He needed, no he wanted.

 

Dean moved back to the bed. He looked into the dark. He thought he saw movement, like a rat was scurrying across the floor. He thought he heard voices, low rumbles from far away.

 

He didn't know how long he laid there staring into the dark cell, but it felt like forever. A face loomed over him, all menace and pain. Alastair knew how to dig into him even here.

 

No matter how much time passed, he never really left the Pit. He tried to blot out the face, the memories etched deep into his bones. He tried to make himself forget what he'd done, who he'd been.

 

This place though, this new pit, it wouldn't let him forget.

 

***

 

They gave him light again “Mornin’ Sunshine.” His voice was subdued like they'd maybe finally broken him. He could still see Alastair. He could still smell the stink of torture, of rot and filth.

 

He was drowning in this place. The wall was green, but the slashes of days were too many now. They were claw marks from some beast. They dripped with blood. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” He let the song trail off. He was going mad, very slightly mad.

 

He got up and paced the room. He decided to add the daily slash. He ignored the blood, Alastair, the sound of time. He carved into the wall, chipping away at paint, at cement, at days. He held his breath. _I can control that. I choose to breathe now._ He let out the breath from his mouth, slowly.

 

He closed his eyes. A smile. _Mornin’ Sunshine._ There was music in his head to fill the silence. It was a memory and it wasn't. It was a bar in some no name town, a real dive.

 

They didn't even have a pool table, but they had a jukebox. It was a real one too like the kind that played old 45s not the digital kind that took crisp bills. They fed it loose change and picked from classics.

 

They had bottles of beer. He could almost taste them. Sam had wandered off to do God only knew what. Cas got up like he was going to leave too. He didn't though. He just reached out to him, palm up like Dean would get a clue and just know what to do.

 

“Never was good at subtle.” He said it into the cell, but Cas smiled, curled his fingers in and out like he was beckoning him closer.

Dean took the offered hand, didn't matter if it was a hallucination. It was better than what he was seeing before. _Not even comparable_.

 

The bar was empty now by some imagined miracle. The jukebox played a quiet song, “In the Still of the Night.” Cas pulled him to an empty place not big enough for more than just the two of them. He swayed a little in front of Dean, still holding his hand.

 

Dean moved closer. They never talked beyond Dean's little daily greeting. He drew Cas to him. They swayed together to the song. At first it was barely a dance, just two bodies in close proximity. Dean leaned his forehead down to him.

 

He let his arms slide around Cas’ waist. He wished he'd done this before. The opportunity had come about, or at least it could have if he'd have let it. Cas curled his fingers up into Dean's hair at the back of his head. He was smiling. Dean could feel it. “Missed you so damn much.” The song must have repeated; no way it was this long.

 

Dean tipped his head back so he could really see Cas. He glanced around the room. The far wall of the bar was a sickly green. Someone had carved slashes into it near the restroom door.

 

He tried not to see it. He concentrated on Cas. There was just Cas, only Cas. The song kept going, and Cas kept moving a little in his arms. “Cas, I'm going crazy here.” He looked back at the wall again 42 slashes. They were his days, his scars to wear.

 

“I'm losing my mind. I don't even know what's real.” The Cas that was in front of him shimmered a little like a star once it's been stared at for too long. “I need you.” He'd said it before, and he meant it. He meant more than before.

 

He opened his eyes. The room was still illuminated. He looked to the wall. He counted the slashes that he knew by heart. 42. _The meaning of life._ He laughed at that. If they were watching him they'd think he'd snapped.

 

“Cas.” He'd said the name. It might be a prayer. It was a prayer. He wasn't praying to be saved though. He just needed him to know. It mattered somehow. It mattered because he might never see him again. He deserved to know.

 

“Cas,” he started again in case it wasn't clear that this was a prayer. He never was sure how this worked. “It was never just need. It was always more. It'll always be more. I'll always want more.” He didn't know how to finish or if it was even enough.

 

He thought about what he'd said. It was nothing much. It wasn't clear maybe. He started again, “I've never been good at the love and love business. I wish I had been. You deserved that much at least.” He wondered if that was clear enough. He replayed the prayer in his head. _It's too subtle._

 

“Fine!” He wasn't sure who he was angry with, maybe himself. Regardless, he yelled fine into the empty room. “I love you! You happy now, you stupid angel? I love you.”

 

It was too quiet now that he was done yelling his prayer into the empty cell. He whispered now, “I'm not sure what's real anymore, but I do know that much. I love you. Should have told you when I had the chance.”

 

He could hear the seconds passing, then the minutes. Time was loud again. He closed his eyes until he could almost see a smile and blue eyes watching over him. 42 days had passed and he'd heard the noise of each of them. He felt broken. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He hoped he could shut it all out.

  
He breathed in long and deep. He held his breath until it burned and reminded him of what was real. He breathed out. He opened his eyes, looked at the days clawed into the wall, all the days, and said, louder than time, louder than the oppressive silence, louder than his heartbeat that was still fiercely beating, “Amen.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always thank you for any kudos you feel like leaving and any kind words. You can also find me on Tumblr under the name [Spearywritesstuff](http://spearywritesstuff.tumblr.com/)


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